How They Met-Grocer and Writer (Guy’s Perspective)

How They Met-Grocer and Writer (Guy’s Perspective)

I sit alone on a park bench and write in my composition book. Creating love stories somehow fulfills my life and I firmly believe that doing so will bring good to me someday, I can almost feel it. There is something about how the Autumn sky, cold weather, and my unique surroundings all set the perfect mood for being creative. I am deeply focused on my work and know I should get as much of it done as possible. Today I am off, but tomorrow I have to be putting up grocery stock at seven o’clock in the morning. It will be long and grueling hours, so writing these stories is my only escape from that cold hard reality. Suddenly, a cute young lady walks by. She looks at me and smiles. I smile back, then resume my writing. She walks away for a little while but, then, wait, she’s pacing up and down the cement path near me. I can’t help but adore her as she repeatedly passes by-she is so beautiful. I now realize that we were the only two human beings in the park, everyone else is enjoying Thanksgiving with their families. I look up at her and she smiles sweetly.

There’s a very brief silence, but then I have an escalating concern, so I say, “I’m very happy that you want to sit with me, but don’t you have a family to go home to?”

“I do, but my parents are fighting like cats and dogs and Thanksgiving was canceled.”

“That is awful. I am so sorry you have to go through that,” I reply, then awkwardly hug her, just in an attempt to give her comfort.

She looks at me, then asks, “What about you? Don’t you have any family?”

“I do, but they’re all far away from me. I can’t afford to travel to them and they can’t afford to travel to me.”

“Do you work?”

“Yes. I’m a stocker at The Downtown Grocer, it’s a God awful job. I can do so much better if only I had the chance.”

“How can you do better?”

“With this,” I show her my composition book and continue, “I am trying to become established as a writer.”

“Let me read.”

“Sure,” I say, then hand my book to her.

She begins to read and is smiling from ear to ear.

“These are beautiful, I love them. Could I borrow your pen?”

“What for?”

“I want to write something for you,” She says, blushing.

“Here you go,” I say, then give her my pen.

She is smiling brightly as she writes, then she shows me. It’s a ten digit number.

“That is for you.”

I too am blushing, but then I ask, “How old are you, anyway?”

“It’s impolite to ask a girl her age, but that’s all right because I think you are nice. You’re cute, too, but I told you that already.”

“So, I will re-state my question; how old are you?”

“I’m seventeen; if you must know.”

“You’re young.”

“I may be young, but you seem like a sweet guy.” Now she gave me a peck on my cheek.

“You know I am twenty-two and I can get in plenty of trouble.”

“Wow, I thought you were my age. I still like you, though.” There is a brief pause, but then she continues “You don’t have to worry about getting in trouble because I won’t make you do anything illegal.”

“Are you asking me out?” I ask.

“Yes.” She humbly replies, blushing.

There’s an awkward silence now; but then she asks again, “So, will you be mine?”

I stare at her for just a moment. She looks at me as if she would cry. I see a potential for love and companionship, but I also see a potential for legal trouble. She’s continuing to stare longingly at me and I am beginning to look at her with affection as well. I want to make her happy because no one else has ever paid this kind of attention to me before. Here’s a girl who enjoys my writing and for some reason or another has fallen for me, albeit unusually quickly. No other women or girls were ever interested in me, because of my personal quirks constant awkwardness. She seems to see past them. Finally an opportunity to love and be loved!

I will tell her. I must tell her, “Yes. I’ll be yours because love knows no numbers. Forgive me for making you wait, I’m just nervous that’s all.”

“Don’t worry; I forgive you. Just know that you don’t have to be nervous around me.”

“I’ll try not to be.”

She’s joyfully smiling and kissing me with passion. I kiss her in return.

“Could I have your phone number as well?” She asks me.

“Sure,” I reply, then call it out.

Instantly; she programs it into her phone and kisses me again. I program hers into my phone as well. We sit on the park bench for hours and I read to her. I know she will give me plenty of inspiration for some time to come, maybe even forever. Finally, the sun begins to set and the Mercury begins to drop.

I ask her with concern “Shouldn’t you be home?”

“I guess. Could you walk me home?”

“I’ll drive you home instead.”

Her eyes light up and she kisses me. We walk to my old Toyota and I take directions from her until we arrive at her parents’ home in the suburbs. I park in front of her parents’ driveway and opened the car door for her.

She gives me a long goodnight kiss and says “Call me.” Afterwards, she walks inside and waves at me from the window.

I go home and sleep, feeling happy and fulfilled. My writing indeed brought good into my life, just as I had firmly believed.

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